The Bad Touch
by FroggyFeet
Summary: A successful assassination. A spot of wine. A little strip-chess. A recipe for disaster.
1. Chess

_You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals_  
><em>So let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel...<em>

_- The Bloodhound Gang_

* * *

><p>Altair growled before he jammed the hidden blade between a templar's shoulder blades. The man gargled out a horrified response before he couldn't respond at all, and Altair gently lowered him into the dirt. It wasn't out of respect, but need. He didn't have the time to hide from guards because one of them heard this piece of worms-meat hit the ground.<p>

He was agitated. And who else but Malik Al-Sayr could entice such emotion from our statuesque assassin? Nobody else, that's who. They had been friends so long, that they both knew how to get under each others skin better than a butcher's knife. He peered around one of the many view points of Acre. Well, its base really. He was currently crouched on a rooftop, just finishing up with his latest target. The last time he saw Malik was five or six hours ago, and not even the mindless slaughter of over excited guards could chill him out.

What Malik had said was lost in translation. That means Altair forgot what they were fighting about. He wasn't really well known for his memory. More for his speed, skill and wit. Sadly, he also had an irksome habit of feeling guilty whenever he fought with the rafiq. Malik was in Acre on an assistance mission since Altair couldn't decipher certain maps that would allow him to traverse the city and the Acre rafiq was rather rusty in ancient Latin. While Altair was acquiring another map by killing his target, Malik was interpreting the last map Altair had brought back. This target was a wealthy scholar who was selling information he had learned by observing the Brotherhood. It worked out rather well, Altair smirked. Get a new artefact the master was raving about and root out another traitor with one stone. Well, one blade.

He owed Malik this favour of accompanying him, and fighting the rafiq wasn't good repayment.

He slung himself over a gap between two rooftops and slammed the hidden blade into another guard, this time into his ribs. The guard was left the same way his companion was; face down. Altair leapt onto the bureau's roof and leapt down into the assassin's base. He ignored Malik's hiss from being woken by the entrance. He was formerly asleep on the cushions in the entranceway, a book clasped in his sleep riddled limbs. His obviously satisfying nap leeched his strength, since he could barely argue as Altair flumped down beside him, bringing a bottle of good will with him; namely his targets best liquor as well as a leather tube filled with maps and navigational gear.

Well, the rich git wasn't going to need it where he was, would he?

Malik looked from the bottle to Altair, but let whatever he was going to say die on his tongue. He slightly turned his head away, like an indignant child. "Truce?" Altair smirked and flung his hood back and nodded, "Truce."

"For now at least," Malik grinned, swiping the bottle and gulping some of the liquid down, hissing as it burned its way to his stomach. He simply bathed in the heat emanating from his gut now, and the wonderful tingling in his limbs. He almost didn't feel Altair's arm encroach on his shoulders.

"You know what, for a prissy bastard you do have your good points."

Malik glared at him incredulously. "Is that a compliment? Or are you doing that verbal diarrhoea thing you do when you drink?"

"Aww don't be so mean! Here I am, trying to be nice to you and you think I'm screwing with you! You should be grateful that I'm not verbally assaulting you right now."

Malik looked away as he took another sip, "Considering how uneducated you are Altair, I really needn't worry at all."

Altair glared down at him. "If I'm so horribly stupid, why do I always beat you at everything then?"

Malik snorted and handed him the bottle before folding his arm across his chest, "When did you ever beat me at _anything_?" Altair smirked, taking the bottle and took another swig. "Was it so horrible that you blocked it out? Would you like a re-inaction?"

Malik laughed, "Fine. Chess sound good to you? Or do your infallible skills not extend further than violence and sex?"

Altair mock gasped in pain, holding a hand to his face in woe. "How cruel! Is that jealousy I hear in your voice Malik? When _was _the last time you got laid? Or maybe the dust in your unmentionables is just making your words meaner than usual."

"I may be a prude, but at least I won't die from some disease and have it drop off."

"It's mean to joke like _that_, Mal."

Malik laughed and got up, helping the master assassin to his feet before leading the way out through another door onto the balcony behind the Bureau. Sat in the sun was an old chess board set up on a hardwood table, two sturdy chairs on opposing sides, the set of furniture slightly bleached from the sun.

Malik sat nearest to the balcony's railing, the grape vines that clung to its wooden frame spilling onto the floor like water. Altair sat, and Malik produced ivory and onyx chess pieces from somewhere in the swathe of fabric around his torso. Altair would have asked, but he knew better than to ask Malik where he hid them. Last time he asked the rafiq a question, he got a fist to the face and a knife embedded in the wall between his thighs. Yeah. The little guy had a temper on him.

Altair smirked viciously, Malik taking a precautionary lean backwards.

"Let's make things interesting, eh Al-Sayr?"

Malik simply raised his eyebrows.

"Whenever one loses a chess piece, one must also lose a piece of clothing," Altair smirked even wider, but Malik just laughed and clapped a hand to the table. "Get ready to be sitting on a balcony in Acre stark naked then, Ibn La-Ahad!"

"Is that a promise or a request?"

Malik laughed again, "I'm not one of the novices Altair. Sadly for you, I'm just not that easy." The rafiq smiled and shook his head. He knew the stories of the notorious Altair. He would go to a city and hit every whorehouse in town, and was a commodity among the novices since many a time did he find them a woman to keep his novices warm. Funny part was that some of them got better than a whore. Well, a different kind. Altair tended to get curious. The novice got a good time – from what he heard, one had a seizure in pleasure at the memory – and Altair got his reputation as a pimp.

He loved every second of it.

Altair laughed before he motioned for Malik to lean forwards. Luckily for him, Malik was curious. He didn't like Altair knowing something that he didn't know. The rafiq leaned, and the assassins' velvety murmurs set something in his stomach into a rapid tango, the hair on his neck acting as a horde of backing dancers for it.

The assassin leaned away and smiled at him before setting up his side of the board, Malik's own shaky hands following suit. Altair. What was he playing at? Malik sure as hell couldn't tell. He was either looking for a quick lay, or something else. Malik couldn't say the something else. It was absurd. A murderer's love? Never. But Altair wasn't really a murderer. A killer, yes, but no murderer. That makes it sound like he kills for himself, but in reality, he killed for the people and the future. He would take on twenty guards at once for a citizen; Malik himself had seen so. But what did he want from Malik? He already gained forgiveness, what else is there?

He wrapped his hand around his chin and watched as Altair made the first move before mirroring Malik's pose. Malik smiled, genuinely horrible. This wouldn't last long. Altair wasn't the brightest crayon in the box when it came to logic. It was funny, since he could kill a man who was covered by an entire citadel, which was kind of like chess. Slaughter the pawns and kill the king. Sadly, Altair hadn't made the link and failed miserably at any logic games. Chess was one of them.

Altair's enraged hisses and yowls were heard throughout the city, sitting with his face in his hands, in his underwear and boots on a city balcony. A few informers dropped by to see Acre's rafiq, blinking like idiots at the display. The rafiq himself simply couldn't give a reason for it. Malik almost punched his fist through a few of them as their eyes traced Altair's lower half, but he didn't know why. He didn't know what would be more painful; feinting ignorance or admitting his true thoughts.

Out of sight, out of mind as it were.

Altair made a gleeful sound as he managed to capture a piece, and Malik smiled in congrats. With an easy jerk he yanked his heavy cloak off, all his other clothes still intact. That's when he felt the pressure on his inner thigh. "C-chea-t-Ahhh!"

Malik ground his teeth together as Altair's sudden advance invoked a rather, unexpected response from him. The rafiq glared at the assassin as he looked up defiantly and took out another piece of Altair's frontier. The assassin frowned, but soon smirked and took off a boot. The pressure left as he removed his boot, but came back with a vengeance as Altair's hands went back under the table. "This can only get worse and worse for you Mal. I _don't_ lose."

Malik gulped and after Altair took out another of Malik's pieces – Malik was very distracted after all – the rafiq removed his outer shirt. Altair groaned in disbelief. "How many layers do you have!"

Malik laughed, but it was cut short by a groping squeeze on Altair's part.

The rafiq hissed out a groan.

"Just give in! All you have to say is, 'You win!'" Altair suggested breathily across the table, one hand snaking across its expanse to caress Malik's cheek and mouth. Malik's hand nearly broke a chunk off the table in restraint. He could smell the spices rolling off Altair now, and the sharp odours made his mouth water. He laughed and clenched his teeth into a grin and had his queen claim another victim. Altair lost another boot.

The party under the table only got worse as Altair neared the end of his parade of assassin's clothes. Malik had to dip his head and bite into his knuckles to stop the stream of profanities and encouragement that would surely spill out to the master assassin. Altair smirked evilly, dragging out his turn painfully long. Malik was so close to winning. So close.

But the hands between his thighs felt so good. He almost threw the table into the air and simply jumped the man. So much for his superior composure. It was shattering in the hands of Altair. He could end it now, just one more piece and he would have a naked Altair in front of him. All he would have to do was crawl saucily across the table, show a little collar bone and the assassin would be hot in an instant. It would be so _easy_.

He smirked again, "Truce?"

Altair laughed gleefully into the night. The stars twinkled humorously back at him, as amused as he was. The master assassin relinquished his hand's embrace with Malik's manhood, slowly licking his middle finger clean. "Truce," he smirked at Malik's flushed face.

The little rafiq smirked. Altair's eyebrows raised in curiosity.

Malik stood, and sauntered around the table. Altair almost leapt up, but Malik's hand on his jaw line stopped him instantly. The lines of the little rafiq were pressing subtly into his side, a hip bone into his chest, a curve of a leg against his stomach. Malik's one and only hand ghosted down him, and he was sure it wasn't the cold night air that made him shiver.

"Maybe you're not just a pretty face," Malik breathed, the fire that Altair had seen earlier burned bright in his eyes. He was so close to everything he ever wanted. He always wanted Malik to notice him in some way. He guessed his infatuation with the man had to stem from his indifference to Altair's status. The master assassin was sick of the novices that screamed into the night, the next day bragging of their antics with a superior. Not him as a person. Just as a figure head.

Malik was different.

For one, they hated each other. But the way the little man was looking at him now, he was torn on that little theory. His words and his actions didn't match up. He noticed that lately, Malik looked at him. Just like he used to when they were young. Before Solomon's temple and before the Crusades.

With an easy movement, he yanked the little man onto him, and then transferred them both to the floor, budging the table out of the way with a shoulder. The sad chess set scattered across the old stone floor and the table shuddered away from Altair and Malik before lying still.

In the morning, a courier brought the rafiq a message. Malik wasn't expecting anything from the Brotherhood, so when the courier left and Altair appeared at his shoulder to nose around the note, he didn't think twice about opening it. And causing Altair to collapse to the floor in a laughing fit.

It was a fine for disturbing the peace.


	2. Docks

Altair threw himself from the Acre rooftop, eyes ignoring the docks beneath him; and more importantly the water beneath them. He landed like a rock in the hay, leaping nimbly out to stare at the huge ship; and the pacing helmet of his latest target. The man was a trader, one of the black markets. He sold slaves throughout the Holy land, to Crusader and Saracen alike. He sold people of one side to the other, and visa versa and in so granting him purchase with both sides; all the while undermining them both.

The political matter didn't bother Altair; he was more concerned with the slaves. On top of that, five of them were his Brothers. Al Mualim had even sent Malik out on this endeavour to save his assassins; and their valuable knowledge. Malik was at the bureau with the Rafiq of the city devising plans to get the assassins home. Altair however was here; at the prison site.

They were going to leave at dawn the next day.

In the boat were his Brothers and he had to get them out alive; Al Mualim demanded it. But first, he was assigned to kill the trader, and the seven assassins with him would take out the guards. A younger Altair would have sneered at the assassins trailing at his feet, but nowadays the man was more docile. A long horse journey to Acre with an irritant Malik was enough, he didn't want to anger the man further.

The eagle was stupid, but not that stupid.

Altair loped towards the boat, towering above the others with engravings and fancy extra additions to flaunt his money. Altair felt the smirk slit his face. He was that arrogant once. Walking as if he owned the ground under his feet, talking as if he had all the answers. The boat was very pretty, but this hedonistic target would learn -just like Altair learned- that when you fall, you have to give it all back.

Altair slipped up the stone steps and along the wall cupping the right arm of Acre's bay. Along that arm was the bridge over to the boat, sprinkled with guard posts and an island sporting a huge tower on the other side. His target bobbed along, wandering over the wooden plank that bridged the gap between the boat and the tower, yelling at guards and guffawing deeply at his own jokes. He nearly sent one of the unlucky men into the water below when he clapped him on the back.

The trader was loaded. The guards he employed were templar lackeys, and the good kind that even Altair had a slight trouble with. He frowned. The assassins flooded past him to attack, and he sprinted along behind. The assassins hit the first guard patrol like ghosts, and the bodies that littered the wall were promptly tipped into the sea below. They hadn't even lost a single man. Altair silently praised their luck.

Silently, he motioned to one. A young man around twenty, and ordered to take out the left group of guards with two others. The right set was to be attacked by two more. The last two flanked Altair. The boat guards didn't know what hit them.

Altair jammed the hidden blade into the hollow of his target's throat; eyes ablaze. The man hit the dirt, Altair collected the feather and an assassin returned from below with the slaves. The assassins swamped him, and it didn't take a genius to realise they were trapped on a boat by a group of guards. Two of the assassins who attacked the left set of guards were dead, the last wounded badly. The assassins taking the right set of guards had been pushed back, forcing them to retreat onto the boat, a group of city guards flooding the wall where they had stood moments before.

They were closed in.

Altair hissed. He could get himself out, but only alone. Maybe one under his arm, but he couldn't save them all. With a kick one of the other assassins sent the bridge from the edge of the boat, and the guards laughed at the futility of the action; it only dragged it out. A few more were ripping apart a nearby set of crates to put across the gap.

Altair looked from one face to another, then at the fifteen slaves.

If he had the five captured assassins take three slaves each they may get out alive. The assassins would do their best, but his orders were to save the five brothers; the other slaves were irrelevant to the mission. It didn't change the collective resolve to save them, however. "Okay groups of three, people. You five lead the slaves back to the bureau, and my group stay with me. Watch out for guards and the like, and when the slaves get to the docks, leave them and return to the rafiq. The rest of us, we are going to hold the city guard's attention until they reach the docks. Then we are going to run for our lives."

The five assassins that he still had him nodded, and the slightly emaciated assassins that had been freed took the others from the boat. Altair turned on the gap, eyes analysing the two guards at the mouth and the twenty behind them. With an easy movement, he drew a dagger from either of his boots and threw them. His comrades copied. The guard's numbers halved, but it was still a horribly uneven battle. His men were only journeymen, barely out of their novice greys, tired and already battle worn, and had to traverse water under fire. The archers weren't helping, and Altair himself stretched himself thin trying to keep the ones he had alive.

Like an angry mother protecting her babies from wolves.

He snorted at the notion. The young man from before took out the archers, Altair thought his name was Saiim, and the job became slightly easier. They lost two more and the battle wore on. The guards lost three more. It became harder to keep the boat, and the shrill howl behind him told him it was time to leave. He grabbed the two assassins that had survived and threw them onto the dingy; they landed on their feet, but one fell under a slashed thigh. His friend picked him up and they hobbled away, Altair picking up the rear.

Absently, he flickered between their backs and the guards behind them. There were five now. He didn't care about them, they were dead weight, but what worried him was the group of soldiers running across the left wall and towards the gates of the docks. Those gates were the planned escape route. But the gates were already being covered by at least twenty guards. His novices were too young to be able to scale the walls, and they very well couldn't fight through the guards. Even if Altair distracted them enough, the novices wouldn't make it past the rest of the guards to the bureau. He noted the slaves slipping out, but he and his two assassins were lagging, and the soldiers were fresh on their feet.

They may not make it.

Altair's face contorted in a flicker of rage; an arrow caught the limping assassin in the back of the neck, killing him instantly. His friend, the twenty something lad that Altair now knew as Saiim, dropped the man like he would a viper. Altair shuddered past his vision, and Saiim was dragged from the prone form.

Eventually the boy learned to run fast, but since Altair ran off to the left – away from the gates - it was hard to keep up with the swerving assassin. He leapt over carts, through merchant stands and even through people; Saiim hot on his heels. The assassin, with an easy movement, took to the rooftops of fishermen's houses with the aid of several crates of merchandise. Saiim followed. Altair leapt up, hands latching onto a thin black pole that jutted out of one of the houses were a sign would have been. With a lithe twist he threw himself up and onto a beam above the gates. He launched himself over, landing like a cat on cobbled street stones on other side. The guards he had sailed over were oblivious. Saiim followed, without the showy twirls and twists, and landed heavily on Altair.

The guards that had been chasing the across the rooftops alerted the ones on the ground, and the hunt was on again.

The eagle grunted under the weight and with a heave sent the boy to the floor; before hopping to his feet and hauling him in his wake. He didn't realise the second blockade at the end of the street. Thankfully, the street was narrow and only two guards faced them. However, they were stood at the ready, and the assassins had no time to fight them. Altair growled and with an easy crack leapt through a nearby merchant stall, flowing into a roll to stand behind them. He had wrenched his short blade out while airborne, and brought it into one of the soldier's backs while Saiim took advantage and jammed his hidden blade into the other's gut. The two guards hit the floor and the assassins took off running.

Altair grunted angrily when the blur sailed over his head.

He snarled and flung Saiim under the hem of the net; the boy rolled to a stop, staring back at him like a fool. With a howl Altair sent the rabbit scampering, Saiim only sent a single glance back. The three guards who had nabbed themselves an eagle hauled him backwards to the docks, and the head of the guard stood at the stone lip overlooking the harbour's grey waters. His helmet screeched in protest as he removed it to look at Altair, eyes as grey as the clouds.

Altair looked back, brow set and mouth hard.

The guards had removed the net and replaced them with a man on each arm, their cold hands holding on like vices across the joints of Altair's limbs. They were big, brutish fellows, each with at least an entire armoury's worth of metal covering themselves. His knees were bent under him, but it didn't make him subservient. It made him fucking **murderous**.

"Throw him in the waters."

"Do I not get to know the name of my murderer before I die?"

The man laughed; "I know the power of names better then you think. I won't make the same mistake as your victims did, _hypocrite_."

Altair smirked and jammed a fist back into the crotch of the guard on his right, releasing the respective arm. With a lunge he had the head guard with a hand clamped around the collar of his jerkin, yanking him close enough to smell the wine on his breath. "And yet you still make the mistake thinking I'll die easy."

Altair snaked his other arm free; the one that was adorned with a hidden blade.

The head guard caught it;

"I never make mistakes," the man smiled, and with an easy jolt sent the dagger hidden in his sleeve under the buckle of Altair's belt of daggers, sending the leather case to the floor. He twisted the four fingered fist, sending Altair into a yowl of agony. The other weapons followed until he held nothing but the clothes on his back, arm still twisted. At least he didn't fall to his knees. With the same, swift movement the guard sent the dagger into Altair's lower back, making the assassin arch up and howl like a dog.

The man swept him around and shoved him with a single hand into the grey waters below.

Strangely, Adam heard the howls of a man far away on the left arm of the harbour. He paid it no heed, probably just another drunkard. He slammed his helmet back onto his head, and motioned to his guards. They swept away.

* * *

><p>Malik screeched like an animal when he saw Altair fall into the harbour waters. Saiim had told him of what had happened and he had taken off like a bat out of hell. He had a vague idea of what would happen, and so he was at the right place at the right time to see Altair fall.<p>

He sprinted down the wiry arms of wooden docks, eyes set on the place where he saw Altair bob then go under. Curse the hydrophobic fool, refusing lessons. Malik leaped with a mangled yelp into the waters, ignoring the shock his body felt at the cold. He thought singly of Altair floating to the harbour bed, bleeding out into the cold. It propelled him down, towards the gloomy grey in the black, and his hand traced a flail of fabric. With a swipe, he had the hem of the assassin cloak in his grip. With a yank, he had the assassin.

With a heave they were above water, and the assassin choked out half of the ocean from his lungs. Malik hissed at him for silence, and sat him on one of the stone lips that circled the hollow underneath the wooden pier of the harbour.

Malik hauled himself up onto the lip, and Altair slumped against him. The dagger in his back was thrown into the water bloodlessly; it had been caught by the leather purse under his clothes; something Malik said it was a silly idea for an assassin to hide his money. Who would steal from an assassin? Altair's rhythmic breathing made Malik's eyes heavy, but as the waters grew black and the sky grew navy, they knew they had to leave.

"Malik."

"What?"

"…"

"What Altair?"

"Thank you."

"…"

"What?"

"No problem."

* * *

><p>Malik and Altair stalked down the dark alleyways through the city, lit only by a scarce lamp and the moonshine filtering between the houses. Altair had tired in trying to talk to the Rafiq; the man was having none of his apologies.<p>

"You shouldn't be sorry, it was a mistake you made trying to protect your student. A honourable one, if not stupid."

Altair didn't know what to say to that, "Thank you?"

"For what?"

"That was the closest thing to a compliment you've ever given me."

The rafiq laughed, "That makes me sound like a tyrant."

The assassin smiled, "your no tyrant Malik."

The rafiq turned to him, eyebrows raised and smile quirked. It was as if the two worked as a puppeteer and toy, mouth and brow. It gave him a strange look, since Altair was used to scorn rather than curiosity as of late, especially from Malik. "Oh, and what do you think I am then?"

The assassin paled. Absently, he realised they had slowed to a stop in an alleyway a few streets from the bureau. "Well, you're not all bad. You have got many redeeming qualities."

"Like?"

"… Your ability to make me look like an idiot, that's no easy feat. I am pretty amazing, you know." Altair smiled thinly at him. The rafiq laughed at him, eyes like coals in the night. He folded his arm across his chest and took a single step forwards. Altair copied.

"Anyone can do that Altair, all they need do is watch; you'll soon do something stupid."

"Ever think you might push me over the edge one day?"

"Oh yes, and what would you do if I did? Fight me? I always win, Altair. Ever think you've met someone superior to your grandeur, Eagle?"

Altair grinned. "May be."

Malik snorted, and then shrugged, eyes almost closed. His hand moved to fold itself behind his back, leaving them to be belly to belly now. Since the arm was out of the way, making them chest to chest, almost nose to nose, Malik was open. Altair breathed down lightly on the rafiq's face; he knew how much the little man liked simple things like that when they were young. He was rewarded, and Malik shivered against him, unwittingly pushing closer in the movement. Altair was about to lift a hand to caress Malik's face, but the man's eyes flicked open and his mouth widened into a smirk. He placed a small kiss on his nose and danced away down the alley.

Hand still clasped behind his back, he looked behind to Altair; the man had only moved enough to stare agape at him. His face looked as if he had kicked him in the balls. "Come on Master Assassin. We can't be as inconsiderate as to do such things as you have on your mind in public, can we?"

"One day I'm gonna find a girl version of you,and then you'll be history Mal."

"Like you could find a girl like me, Alty."

"Don't doubt the master little man, I'll find her and we will run for the hills, I'm telling you."

"If you could find someone like that you'd have gone already and stopped bothering me."

"Well, I've already found them. He's just a horrible tease t'is all."

"Poor you."

"Pray for me Mal."

"_Wait_, did you just backhandedly call me a _girl_?"


	3. Haystacks

Escorting jobs were horrific, at best.

Altair ignored the whining man trailing behind him, gesturing at the "monstrosities" of the poor district. He even stopped to gawp at a body that the guards had discarded on the floor, and Altair had to stalk back and drag him away. What he didn't see couldn't hurt him. And now? He had somehow managed to swat a thug in the face with his flailing hand.

Altair rounded on the petty robber, even as he towered above the assassin. Altair gripped the leather arm guards around his charge's wrist and tugged him so he slightly stood behind the master assassin. His steel eyes didn't seem to affect the stocky assailant, who broke into a greasy smirk and wrenched him forwards by the collar of his hood. Altair had other ideas though, and didn't really have the time to dance with the fools of the city. Sadly, his way of disbanding thugs was rather illegal.

The guards howled jibes behind him as he ran, charge in tow through Acre streets.

His companion's angry yelling was the most dominant noise in his ears, though. "How irresponsible," "you're supposed to be a master assassin!" and other things laced themselves amongst the hubbub of the city folk. Altair didn't care. He bolted around an alley corner, eager eyes drinking in the surroundings. A relatively short alleyway with a rather short back wall, a melee of beams sticking out of the walls like teeth. With a easy yell he threw the other man up onto a beam protruding from the alley wall, the small man hung over it like a child over their fathers knee. Altair turned on the guards, and with a similarly easy movement, drew his sword.

With a gargled yelp –muffled by the collar of his tunic when it jarred painfully into his teeth- was hefted up onto the beam alongside the mouthy bastard. Still insulting him and ignoring the pelt of stones across the stone slabs of the building. With a strained grunt he wrenched the now seething dai's chest onto his shoulder and simply hauled them both over the short wall. The shorter man yelled, but the landing was soft enough. Altair aimed well, and they landed in the haystack beyond the short back wall of the alley, the gate to the cemetery looming a few yards away.

The guards' yells and attempts at coaxing out their prey were futile and vain, they realised this before they left to bother citizens and drink the city's alcohol preserves dry. Altair finally hissed out his anger and propped himself up on his hands, rage contorted face an arms length from Malik's, own sheepish one. Altair growled.

"Dumbass."

"Well, we didn't get hurt, so that's okay. Right?"

"Only because of my superior skills at covering the landscape."

"Running like a girl you mean."

"A sexy beast of a girl, yeah."

Malik laughed, letting his head hit the wooden bottom of the wagon, ignoring the hay digging into his ear.

It was barely a moment, but it was enough.

They were students again, hiding from Master Sadiq. He wanted them to join in with the other novices swim lessons. Malik had run with him. They hadn't the time to save Kadar-

"I know what you're thinking. And you need to shut up."

The moment was lost amongst Solomon's Temple.

"You're mind reading creeps me out more every day, Mal."

"Yes well. Your love for illustrated books creeps _me_ out, Altair."

"You're just sore that I like their pictures better than I like your maps."

"It takes a master to make a map. Never forget that."

"In that respect, we might finally agree."

"Don't look at me like that when we are in a haystack, novice."

"Then don't _poke me_ when we are in a haystack, Dai."

"You are insufferable."

"And yet you suffer me. My luck knows no bounds."

"Oh shut up and get your pants off before I leave you here."

"What about-"

"Fuck the appointment. The Dai of Acre is a stuffy old fool. He won't die of old age if we make him wait a few moments. Especially if you adhere to tradition."

"That. Was a low blow."

"Punny guy."

"You love it."

xxx

It was always amazing to see Malik talk his way out of things. The assassin figured it to be witchcraft. Whenever _he_ was late, he usually got a boot to the head; even if it was by an hour. Malik never explained how he managed to explain being three days late and missing a boot.


End file.
